


Office Hours

by VigilantShadow



Category: The Secret World
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 23:12:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13281906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilantShadow/pseuds/VigilantShadow
Summary: At some point, Owen's office became a sort of common area for all of his agents. Owen blames it on Inanna. Inanna blames it on his couch. Written for the Apiary Art Contest!





	Office Hours

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote this I envisioned the scene breaks like someone changing a channel on an old TV. You know, like in Robot Chicken. Also I...apologize...I didn't edit this at all.

              **Day 1: Couches**

“Don’t you have a shitty apartment to sleep at?” Inanna’s asked, jolting Owen out of his sleep. He winced, rubbing his aching neck.

“Oh, hi Inanna. Is there something I can help you with?” He replied, peering at his reflection in the monitor to check his bedhead. As it turned out, his hair was fine. He did however seem to have a set of red marks on his cheek, probably from his keyboard. He rubbed at his cheek, straightening up as he did so. This wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep at his desk, or the first time he’d been caught. But it was usually his supervisor, Ray, who caught him. Somehow, that seemed less improper than one of Owen’s agents catching him in the act.

“Nope,” Inanna said, making her way over to his couch and flopping down into it in a way she probably didn’t realize was just a bit endearing. “I just would’ve felt weird being in your office if you were asleep.”

Owen stared at her, waiting for some sort of elaboration. There was none.

“…Alright, well, uh…is there are _reason_ you’re in my office? I mean, it’s no trouble I just…I don’t get a lot of visitors.”

It was usually just Ray, or sometimes one of the other handlers come to ask him what the fuck he was doing with his agents. Otherwise, Owen was pretty sure most people didn’t realize he _had_ an office, judging by how many people cornered him in the break rooms.

“You’ve been withholding information from me, Shamash,” Inanna said, deadly serious. Owen swallowed. Ray had warned him Inanna was dangerous, and Owen had seen it first hand on the training missions they’d engaged in together. Still, he figured if her bad luck with handlers was going to end in his demise it wouldn’t be inside his own office.

“I’m…sorry?”

Inanna stared into his eyes for a moment, and for the first time in a long time Owen felt fear. Then, she laughed. It was an unfamiliar sound. A nice sound, Owen thought, relaxing a bit.

“You never told me you had such a nice couch. The ones in the break room are shit, I can’t get anything done on those things.”

Owen took a deep breath.

“Oh. Well, then. You’re, uh, welcome to come in here whenever you want.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Thanks. I was already going to.”

She set down a file folder he hadn’t realized she was carrying on the coffee table in front of his couch, flipping it open and perusing the papers inside with a frown on her face. Owen watched her for a moment, then shook his head and got back to his progress reports.

 

              **Day 2: Intruders**

Owen tried his best to stay out of the whole “corporate espionage” business. His coworkers thought this must be a futile act, seeing as he worked for the Illuminati, but it had worked for the past eight years. Despite his avoidance, however, he still took place in the yearly company wargames. So when he entered his office on Tuesday morning, it took less than a second for him to realize something was off. He quietly pushed at his office door, eyeing the scratches around the keycard scanner that indicated someone had removed it and then put it back. Past the door, Owen could make out his quiet, dark office. Empty except for a pair of shapes moving on the couch.

Owen was moments from grabbing the razorblade hanging from his neck, slicing a jagged line into his palm, and enacting Illuminati Protocol 34.1.B for dealing with potential intruders when he recognized who had broken into his office.

“You know,” he said, laughing as his hand dropped to his side, “when I said you could come into my office, I meant when I was there.”

“Should have specified that, then,” Inanna shot back. She was sitting on his couch once again, this time with Gilgamesh beside her. He looked about how he always did when Inanna took him along on one of her schemes. That is to say, distinctly annoyed.

“Well, I suppose,” Owen said. “Could you, uh, ask next time though? I can get you swipe access, it’s just the Pyramidion tends to get a little testy when we let people break into our offices.”

“Sure,” she said, not even looking up from the files on the desk.

“And could you turn on the light?” He asked. Gilgamesh threw up his hands.

“That’s what I said,” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes in Inanna’s direction, “but she said it would ruin the surprise.”

Owen tried to meet Inanna’s eyes so he could put on his “I’m not mad, just disappointed” handler face. But she was still reading her files, a smile on her face.

 

              **Day 3: Recruits**

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you all here today,” Owen said as the last of his newer agents filed into the office. There was a nervous tittering in the air, and Owen realized belatedly how this must look. He was seated behind his desk, which was under a light that he knew made him look more dramatic than he would have preferred, and his hands steepled in front of him. He smiled genially. “Don’t worry, you aren’t in trouble.”

Most of them didn’t seem very convinced. It was such a shame how cynical people were, nowadays. Well, Owen would just have to prove his sincerity. Very slowly, because these agents had been in the field just long enough that sudden movements scared them, Owen reached into the top drawer of his desk. This only seemed to make them more nervous. Dispensing with the formalities, he quickly grabbed the tray hidden there and set it on the table with a thud.

“Congratulations everyone, you’ve all survived your first month in the field! I made cookies! Don’t worry, I checked all of your medical files and you aren’t allergic to anything in here. Though uh. My cat Schrodinger was hunting extradimensional terrors near my kitchen so if yours tastes like distilled suffering just grab a different one.”

No one moved. Owen supposed their lack of trust was understandable. The congregation of survivors in his office accounted for 45% of the month’s total recruits, which was technically above average. Granted, part of that was the recent upswing in Bees, but Owen liked to think at least part of it was his advice. Their paranoia had probably served them well, or had at least been formed as a protective instincts against what they had survived. And technically, Owen should have commended them for it, because trusting even one’s handler was against company policy, but this was supposed to be a _party._ So he stood, picking up a cookie in each hand, and made his way to one of the recruits at random.

“Here,” he said, searching his mind for the recruit’s name. K something. Kristoph? Ken? Oh, right, “Kellog. Happy one month without meeting a messy permanent end! You might not know this, but surviving this month increases all of your one year survival rates by 35%.”

“Oh,” Kellig said, taking one of the cookies very carefully, “that’s…good?”

Technically, that was still only 65%. But it boosted the number up above fifty, which wasn’t as bad as it had been in previous years. Owen tried to smile more encouragingly. Kellog didn’t eat the cookie. Well, that meant it was time for Plan B: Pretend that him not eating the cookie unprompted was definitely what I wanted all along.

“Cheers!” Owen held the cookie out. Kellog stared at him. Owen held the cookie out more aggressively. He could pinpoint the moment Kellog’s desire to not be in the spotlight beat out his suspicion. They clinked cookies. Owen pretended he didn’t notice how Kellog timed his first bite to occur just after Owen’s.

The show of faith seemed to brighten everyone’s spirits, and soon his nervous newbees were picking up the baked goods and mingling awkwardly. Well, not the worst party he’d ever been to in HQ. No Battle-Royale style death games, for one.

“Thanks for the help,” he whispered to Kellog under the murmur of conversation.

“No problem,” Kellog replied, almost as if it were a question. He looked a bit uncomfortable for a moment, and then asked, “so why did you pick _me_ to show the cookies weren’t poisoned?”

“Well I figured you wouldn’t be worried. About poison.”

Kellog stared.

“Because you’re immortal? So even if you were poisoned you would…” Owen gestured, “come back.”

“I’d….why would I not be worried about that?”

“I mean, I know that the park is probably pretty cold right now, so it wouldn’t be _awesome_ popping out there, but it’s not the worst anima well in the world.”

“I’d…I’d still be dead though?”

Owen frowned, trying to parse what Kellog was trying to say with that. Then he remembered.

“Wait, shit, I forgot. You’re new. I’m so sorry. You still don’t like dying!”

Kellog blinked owlishly. Owen put on his best smile.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “you’ll get used to it.”

Kellof didn’t look reassured. Distinctly aware that the conversation could go nowhere but down, Owen reached over and handed Kellog another cookie. He patted the younger agent on the shoulder twice, hoping that wouldn’t make it more awkward, and then sped away.

 

             

**Day 4: Study Session**

“You know,” Mab’s voice emanated from the speakers of the TV on Owen’s wall, a bit tinny from her laptop’s low-quality mic, “I’ve been wondering about the respective strength of Bogden’s Familiarity Effect versus Imlarin’s Theory of Occult Power.” She held up a pair of books, one clearly loved and thumbed through often and the other glowing a bit and emanating eldritch energies even across Skype. “I got these two focuses last week, and I’m really looking forward to testing them.”

“Hmm,” Inanna, sitting in her usual perch on Owen’s couch. She picked up one of the many papers scattered across the coffee table, turning it every which way as if that would translate the script from Infernal Third Dialect. “You should give me your notes on that later. I’ve been thinking about picking up a new one too, and I’m trying to decide whether it’s worth it to go to Hell or some bullshit to get something…occult. If I can make a better one myself that might be easier.”

“Should…should we even be talking about this with them?” The man next to Inanna asked, gesturing to the screen. Mab and Jamie were both sitting at Mab’s laptop, in front of what was obviously a banner in the Templar library. They both shrugged.

“So long as Gladstone doesn’t catch us,” Jamie said, “he might tell.”

“Believe me, we had this whole ‘should we share magical secrets with the Illuminati’ crisis a year or two ago,” Inanna assured him, patting him on the shoulder. “We decided that it was worth it if it meant we all got to be more badass.”

“I believe that we agreed on the phrase ‘if it mean we could progress in the field of arcane academia’, Inanna,” Jamie chided, though Owen was fairly certain it was a joke. Mostly. Alice, sitting against the left arm of the couch with her nose buried in one of her own focuses, snorted.

“I…guess?” The man said, though he sounded unconvinced.

“Anyway,” Mab continued, “I was reading Bogden’s first thesis on the subject and it seems pretty sound, moreso than Imlarin’s, but…”

“The two of us agree that ‘old tomes imbued with the magic of centuries are very powerful’ doesn’t exactly need much academic theory behind it,” Jamie concluded.

Owen forced his attention away from the conversation at hand and back to the monthly progress reports that he was supposed to have finished by the end of the day. The reports were, as usual, boring.

“I mean, I’ve always been a fan of Quincy’s uh…” Alice shrugged, not looking up from her book, “I don’t remember the full name, but I agreed with it.”

Owen tried to remember which theory she was talking about. Quincy…he was pretty sure that was the one that stated complex foci hindered growth in a user’s magic, and that the most powerful foci were therefore the simplest ones even if they took more practice to use.

“Quincy’s Bell Theorem is a solid one but I’m pretty sure…hold on,” Jamie said, then disappeared from the screen for a moment. Owen tried again to get back to his work. He hadn’t been invited to the conversation, so he had no business listening. “Yep, I was remembering right. It was developed using non-anima based magic. Though more powerful anima users _are_ capable of using simple foci to the same degree of effectiveness as complex ones, I’m pretty sure it’s not an actual _hindrance.”_

Alice shrugged.

“I just figured I should say something so no one could say I’m not participating.”

“You weren’t technically _wrong_ though, from an analytical point of view it would be easier to measure someone’s training using a simpler focus. I just…like my fancy tomes,” Mab smiled, a bit starry eyed as she patted her books.

“That’s fair,” Alice nodded, “anyway, your first question…I’m inclined to agree with Bogden, but that’s mostly because Imlarin is uh…”

Everyone in the room shuddered as one, even Owen who was very much not eavesdropping. Alice was not normally the sort of person who found herself unable to come up with a proper insult, but even she was left speechless when attempting to convey her disdain for Imlarin’s character. Normally, it would seem a bit backwards to dismiss an academic theory based on the person who coined it being a jerk, but Owen could understand in this case.

“There’s also the common knowledge law to think about,” the man who Owen didn’t know said. Ugh, Owen couldn’t pretend he wasn’t listening anymore. He just couldn’t. Common knowledge was…his thing. He cleared his throat.

“I, uh, hate to say it depends but…in my experience it depends?” He said. Everyone looked surprised, especially the two Templar on the screen.

“Wait, Mitchell is here?” Jame asked, squinting.

“Wait, Mitchell is a _blood mage_?” Mab asked almost at the same time, looking like she was re-evaluating her whole perspective on life. “I didn’t even know he was a _bee_!”

“…Yeah,” Alice said slowly, “he’s like…the healer for Inanna’s band of merry jackasses. Have you…have you never had him mother hen you over minor injuries before? It’s the worst.”

“You were stabbed! Fourteen times!” Owen insisted, “I was worried!”

“I was fine.”

“It was pretty funny though,” Inanna chimed in, smirking.

“It’s just…I only ever see you when you’re talking to contacts,” Mab said, “or, when you and Sonnac and all the other handlers have those inter-faction meetings.”

“Mab, we aren’t supposed to know about those,” Jamie said in what he probably thought was a whisper.

“I _knew_ having those in a coffee shop was a bad idea!” Owen said. Though, in retrospect at the very least the Illuminati and Dragon probably knew people were spying on them, so he supposed it was probably fine.

“Anyway, why didn’t you invite Owen if he’s a blood mage, Inanna?” Mab asked.

“Yeah,” Alice added, “I was wondering about that too. I mean, we _are_ in his office.”

“This is your office?” The man Owen didn’t know said, “I thought…Inanna said this was a common room. Oh my god, I was wondering who you were this whole time.”

“Why _did_ you invite this guy and not the guy whose office we’re in?” Alice asked. Owen had been wondering this as well, but he had felt it a bit too blunt to just ask.

“Oh, I met Ian here today and I thought he could contribute to the discussion just like everyone else I invited,” Inanna said, smiling as if she were trying not to laugh at a very good joke.

“Inanna,” Ian said, looking a bit exasperated, “we went to school together for like. Five years. We were in the same P.E. class.”

“Shhh,” Inanna exclaimed, elbowing him in the ribs, “I’m trying to make fun of Owen!” Owen must not have been hiding the way that hurt well enough, because she finally broke out laughing. “I’m joking, you idiot! I just wanted to see how long it’d take you to get involved. I figured it’d be pretty fast, but you’ve been sitting there looking uncomfortable and pretending not to be involved for the past hour and it was. It was just too good.”

“Oh,” Owen said, because he couldn’t think of a more coherent answer.

“Anyway, get over here and tell us that thing you were trying to say. We’ve only got so much time before the Templar Hall Monitors catch us and we have to go dark.”

She said it almost like an apology, though Owen knew it wasn’t Inanna’s style to apologize for things like this. Maybe that was why it was easy for him to accept it. He saved his report and, with only a little bit of guilt about procrastination, settled onto the couch between Alice and Inanna.

             

**Day 5: Comparing Notes**

“Alright, so I’ve been working on the report for our, uh…fishing expedition last week,” Owen shivered, remembering once again how long it had taken to get the smell of deep one out of his shirt, “and I was just thinking that we should compare notes. Make sure we get our stories straight and all that.”

Therese peered out from the Skype window, looking like she wanted very much to fall asleep.

“Owen. It’s. It’s seven A.M. That’s not a real time.”

“Oh, shit, sorry. I forgot-“

“The time difference? I figured.”

That wasn’t actually what he’d forgotten, but he supposed that sounded better than ‘I forgot most people haven’t obliterated their natural circadian rhythms, allowing themselves to collapse into brief periods of hibernation whenever they finished turning in their reports.

“Should I call you later?” He asked sheepishly.

“I’m here, and Hana’s here, so we might as well do this now. Now that I remembered paperwork exists I won’t be able to go to sleep again anyway.”

“Okay, so what were you going to put in your report?”

“Uh, I normally just take selfies in front of the monster I finished punching and send them to Sonnac, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea to introduce him to you guys just _yet_ ,” she replied. Owen figured it wouldn’t be a good time to mention that he technically already knew Sonnac, because he agreed it wasn’t a good time. “So I didn’t take any pictures. I was uh, figuring I’d just copy Hana’s.”

Hana appeared on the screen, her face as unreadable as ever.

“I don’t write reports. My handlers just intercept both of yours.”

Owen supposed he should have expected that.

“So what I’m hearing is you both want to copy mine?”

Both women nodded.

“Consider it the price of waking me up. I just figure I’ll swap out every time you or Inanna are mentioned with Hana or, uh…well, I’m sure I can think of someone,” Therese added helpfully. That sounded fair.

“Alright…could you guys maybe send me bullet points, at least? If you’re copying my play by play you probably don’t want that bit where I lose consciousness from blood loss for five minutes in there.”

“I suppose it would be suspicious if we _all_ coincidentally lost consciousness from blood loss during missions that took place on the same day,” Hana said.

“It would be suspicious if I said in my report that I lost consciousness from blood loss, period,” Therese added. “Alright, we’ll get our notes to you when it’s not…stupid early.”

“Thanks! Have a nice day you two!”

“Bye Owen,” Therese said, sounding like she was halfway back asleep already, and ended the call.

“Hey Inanna,” Owen called over to the couch.

“I’m not writing the report, that’s your job,” she said, not looking up from her phone.

“But-“

“You’re a handler, all you get paid to _do_ is look pretty and do paperwork.”

Owen thought that was a rather dramatic oversimplification, and also that she should be nicer given that he almost died very, very badly on the last job. Inanna’s face said otherwise. Owen sighed, and started typing.


End file.
